Chapter 6

"I mean it, El," the innocent voice came over the phone, "I can't talk too long either. It's a really beautiful hotel. The Widmark. I don't exactly know where the convention is going to be held. Something called the Starlight Room. A lot of big executives I suppose. In ladies' shoes. That's all I know, believe me."

"Just be sure you call me in an hour," the red-haired girl said back to her, holding the phone to her ear as she leaned on her typewriter.

"Oh, Elaine," Sally started to protest.

"If you don't I'll worry myself sick." She replied, wondering what trouble her taffy-headed roommate could get into considering the circumstances.

The girls signed off and hung up. Elaine went back to typing about four words an hour. She shook her head as she looked at the mumbo-jumbo on th paper. How had Sally gotten herself mixed up in this crazy scene, anyway?

She thought a few more minutes, then stopped abruptly and yanked the paper out of the machine. Then, she bolted up, grabbed her purse, flicked out the light, and headed for the front door.

Sally Pomeroy headed down the air-conditioned corridor with the brown package strings tucked neatly between her middle two fingers. She searched for a sign that might read, "Shoe Buyers' Convention," but so far, nothing.

She found an elevator full of black men in red fezzes with miniature scimitars on their lapels. She got on and smiled like a tourist as the elevator door went shut like Ali Baba's cave.

"Open Sesame," she said with a little radiant smile as the elevator hit the second floor. The black men stared at her in frozen silence.

The second floor, a long labyrinth of corridors and convention rooms was probably her best bet, she figured. She looked for the door marked "Starlight Room" or "Shoe Buyers" or something similar. All the big convention rooms were either locked or full or had unfamiliar signs posted on little sandwich boards in front of them.

She continued her search. Finally, she spotted someone in a red uniform with a cap who looked like he might work in the hotel.

"Excuse me, Sir," she said, politely, "could you direct me to the Starlight Room. I'm looking for the Shoe Buyers' Convention."

The uniformed man gave her a quick wink and a light elbowing in the ribs. "Sure thing, Toots," he said, nodding and winking like a signal light. "Just go right down that corridor and turn left when you get to the very end."

Sally said a fond adieu, and she headed off. The man shouted after her in a loud stage whisper, "Enjoy yourself, Honey Buns."

Then she heard him let out a string of loud guffaws that followed her all the way to the end of the hall.

She turned left like her told her to, but there were no rooms there. Only a door that said, "Fire Exit." She felt a little queer pushing on it. But it was her only real choice. It opened easily enough.

Once through it, the surroundings seemed to change a little. The hall carpet, which had been lush and bright red, turned into a thin strip of black tuft. The lighting had been dim before, but now it was dim and red and emanating from little steel torches bolted into the walls. Other than that light, the place was pretty darn gloomy.

Sally made her way along the hall looking for any sign of a door. Finally, she made out one at the very opposite end A small, hand-painted index card had been thumb-tacked to the door wood. And it read, "Shoe Buyers".

This must be the place, she said to herself as she took in a big breath and placed her hand on the doorknob. It twisted easily in her hand and she pushed on the door until it opened up.

She smiled with relief when she saw the sparsely familiar reception room. It was as ordinary as any she had been in over her secretarial career years. Upright sofa, coffee table full of last year's magazines. Long receptionist's desk with a bunch of different colored phones. And a rather average-looking girl sitting behind the desk.

"Name?' the girl said, routinely.

"Sally," she smiled broadly, adding, "from Tip Top."

"Ah," she said, picking up a pencil and a visitor's card pin with a little white label attached. "Yes."

Sally watched as she scribbled a few words onto the card. Then she looked up at her through her bifocals and asked, "Mistress or Slave?"

"Huh?" she said back.

"I asked you," the girl said, striking a sudden attitude of assertiveness that Sally found totally unnecessary, "if you were attending the convention as a Mistress or as a Slave."

"Oh,' Sally said, feeling her arms grow limp as cooked spaghetti.

"Which is it?" the girl snapped. Boy she sure had changed her tune in the last minute. "As you can see," she continued, "I have to fill in your card, so let's have it."

"Well," Sally began slowly, "I don't really know, you see . ... How do I tell, I mean...."

Before she had a chance to finish the girl was poking her in the arm with the visitor's card pin. Sally looked down to see it completely filled out. The word "Slave" had been inked in over the whole thing.

"Next room," the girl pointed blatantly, "and I'll take that." Now she was pointing to Sally's brown package.

Sally gave it to her in a daze and then turned to follow the end of her finger toward the door on her left.

She marched intently toward it. Little office snit! She'd seen them before. They were in every single office she had ever set foot in. How come people couldn't just be nice, she wondered. Give somebody a desk and a couple of telephones and Wow!. . .

Sally's thoughts were broken off by an ear-piercing scream that split her attention in two the moment she walked in the room. Then the sights took over and she had to brace herself against the door behind her to take them all in.

The room was about the size of a regular school classroom. But there, the resemblance ended. Except for the punishment. There was a lot of it going on in the room. In every corner in fact. Women were tied to stakes with their rear ends exposed. Women were gagged with harnesses around their necks strung up between hooks in the ceiling, from which a few of them dangled in face-to-crotch positions. Some were dressed in black leather outfits, much like the one Whitney Wilde had on earlier that day. Women stood with bullwhips, some with riding crops administering punishment as well. Men were being led around the room on leashes like dogs. Black leather, chains, crops, handcuffs, leather belts, snapping, cracking, popping, red welts, screams of pain, others screaming as they inflicted it. These were the sights and sounds that assaulted her senses. These were the scenes of a dungeon.

As far as Sally could make out, the only thing missing was a torture rack. One bare-chested powerfully-built male stepped toward her. She had no idea who he was, as he was wearing a black executioner's hood over his face. He wore black leather breeches and carried a leather slave whip.

Sally tried to open the door again, but found it locked. She pulled the hand with the card in it behind her back, but the big man grabbed it from her.

She stared at him in awe and terror as he read what was so plainly marked on it.

"We've been waiting for you," was all the man said, "follow me." He gestured toward the center of the room with his whip handle.

Sally was unsure what she should do, but something told her to follow him, whatever else she had planned.

She padded along after him with mixed feelings, as he led the way with wide, aggressive boot stomps.

"A slave, Mistress," he said, bowing to a huge, statuesque silver-haired woman decked out in leather tight pants with a halter top made of studded leather that had been pierced with holes so abundant that it looked like heavy fish net. Only the nipples of her breasts were hidden, by huge steel tips in the shape of nipples. She was wearing the highest heeled boots Sally had ever seen. She couldn't even figure out how she could walk on them.

"Down on your knees," the woman commanded to the girl. She was holding the biggest, thickest, meanest leather switch Sally could imagine. It had five separate thongs dangling off one end of. She would have to be a whip specialist just to operate it.

Again the woman ordered her, "Get down, Slave!" and when Sally stared back at her, she pushed her down to the ground with the heel of her boot.

The girl stared up at the woman who looked about the size of the Statue of Liberty from her position on the floor. She might have been a gorgeous woman, or she might have been the ugliest one alive. There was no telling. She wore a mask that curved up in haughty black peaks and swirls at the temples. Only her eyes were visible.

"Now bow down to me, Scum Whore!" the woman said, asserting her whole weight on

Sally's shoulder with the heel of her boot.

Sally caught on quite quickly, this time. She cast her eyes downward and bent her head over far, so far she could only glimpse the toes of the woman's stacked boots.

"Now kiss my boot," the woman said in a preening, haughty voice. A voice that made the hairs on Sally's neck stand up.

"Holy Shit!" she spilled out as she realized she was in real hot water. These people were not fooling around. No, Sireee!

"Wretched Street Trash!" the woman shouted, "How dare you speak to me in that flippant tone of voice. I'll teach you to speak right, won't we, Basil?"

The black hooded male came toward her and took up a position at her right side.

"As Mistress commands," he said, bowing and moving in on Sally.

She gripped the stone floor with her fingernails so hard they broke off. How the hell had she gotten into this in the first place? Better still, how the hell was she going to get out of it?

"Seize her and beat her!" the woman commanded, whirling around to give a few more male dominants the word on just what they could do with this intolerable bitch.

Four or five males came rushing up from various parts of the room, and since Sally was afraid to look up, could only spot them out of her peripheral vision.

They cuffed her by the right and left arms and then yanked her up onto her feet. They half-drug, half-hauled her to the nearest empty neck collar which was shackled into the floor on a long steel chain.

Sally felt the stiff leather brace encircle her neck, pinching her skin, her hair, her pride. She felt it lock securely into place and then she saw someone, a black hooded male, force the ring into the collar into an open hasp. When the thing clicked shut, she let out a scream. It was followed by the silver-haired Mistress's whip which cracked like a gunshot.

"Silence, Slut!" she crowed, bringing the whip back up over her head. "You are making your already untenable position all that much worse."

Sally sunk down onto her knees and felt the tears roll down her cheeks. She didn't know why she was crying. Nobody was hurting her, but she had a feeling it wouldn't be long now

"Bind her!" the woman in charge shouted to her men. They obeyed instantly.

Sally felt a leather lined wrist cuff go around her left, then her right wrist. They snapped shut with the finality of a jail cell closing behind a condemned man.

"Why ... " she heard herself say in her small, whine, "why me?"

"Shut that pink, slimy trap of yours," the she-bitch snarled, and she cracked her whip for emphasis.

Sally had to admit that with that thing in her hand, she presented a powerful picture of authority.

"Spread those legs of hers out ... far out," the witch snapped, "harder!"

Two of the men got on one side and two on the other. They spread Sally's shapely legs apart and manacled her on both sides and the ankles. She felt a little rip tear up from her ass and split to her cunt. These black-faced beefcakes were stretching her in two.

"Excuse me," she stared timidly, "but do you mind? I think this has gone just about far...."

The bitch cracked her whip about an inch away from Sally's twitching pug nose. She said nothing more. Neither did Sally. But she heard the awful clanking shut of the manacles around her ankles and looked over her shoulder as best she could to see chains stretching out from her ankles and heading toward two ugly protruding meat hooks sticking up out of the stone floor.

She shriveled on the spot to think of what might come next. She looked down as best she could to see the insanely inane little wraparound dress still clinging to her body. She looked like coed who had met with foul-play on her way to cheerleading practice. Except for those slutty-looking platform shoes. They fit right into this bizarre convention.

"Who wants to be the first," the woman shouted to all those in attendance.

Sally looked a little to her right and saw that there were a few people sitting in chairs on one side of the room. like a peanut gallery.

"Who wants to administer the first blow of the lash?" the woman ordered.

A nicely-dressed man in a three-piece suit with a black hood over his face stepped forward. Sally could barely make him out. He looked like some executive or another. Probably here on his lunch hour. They had all begun to look pretty much alike to her by this time, whether it was in the office or here, at the auction block.

She felt the wraparound dress come ripping right off her back. She nearly died with embarrassment when she remembered that her panties and bra were ripped until she thought that it was probably okay, since they would just end up more shredded by the time this was over. Whenever that would be.

Then she felt a powerful hand grip the back strap of her bra and tear it off her breasts and down her middle. The wind whizzed past her naked nipples giving them a titillating breeze making her nipples stand up erect.

"All right," she said, knowing it would probably lead nowhere, "now look what you've done...."

"That's enough!" the black queen shrieked, snapping the whip down onto the floor at her heels, "Gag her!"

Sure enough, someone was right there to do it, too. She felt a heavy harness like thing come down over her blonde curls and cut off her vision a moment. Then she felt a little rubbery ball, a flabby balloon being tucked into her mouth. The overwhelming feeling of helplessness she felt was really starting to frighten her. There she was, her words about to be cut off, and she couldn't do a single thing about it.

She felt really out of it when that flabby ball began to inflate inside her mouth. Luckily her nose holes were free. There was no way she could express herself now, except to cry. She felt the tears well up in the corners of her eyes, preparing to spill out.

The shadows of the action behind her back played on the wall beside her. She could see the sordid events distorted and larger than life, playing in the flickering shadows of the stone wall. Eerie shadows bounced around there. This was a circus all right. A freak show. And she was the center attraction.

She felt the wet tears spill out and down her cheeks. They splattered down toward her breasts and out over her nipples. Then she ground her heels hard into the concrete floor and prepared herself for the whipping she knew would come.

"Step right up, Sir," the Iron Mistress said to the man, snapping her fingers together. A slave brought up a tray of choice punishment equipment. A mace, a riding crop, leather-covered paddle. Cat o' nine tails. Clothes pins, C-clamps. Other instruments of pain and torture.

"Have you made your selection?" the black bitch said imperiously.

"I have, Mistress," the man said, fitting his huge ringed fingers around a slippery leather whip handle.

"An excellent choice," the woman said, gesturing toward the helpless body of the blonde girl, "our slave awaits her punishment."

The man gripped the slithery tip of the big bull whip in one hand and the thick leathery handle in the other. He advanced toward the writhing, twisting body hanging deliciously suspended from hooks.

Those delectable curvy white thighs, those high-rising buns flinching and gripping each other, that smooth, arched back, the blonde tresses, now falling in such confusion every which way over the girl's silken shoulders. He was going to enjoy whipping the shit out of her, that was for sure.

He reared up with every muscle in his body and poised for the strike. He held the sinewy leather strand in mid-air a tantalizing moment before he snapped it hard and brought it down full force on the resisting, tossing girl's backside.

It slapped down hard, like a speed boat hitting rough water. With the first horrible snap of the whip, the man felt his erect member clang against his pants like an errant dinner bell.

Sally felt the sting of the mean leather flail against he tender flesh. It burned like a ring of fire. The track on her back smarted and swelled up immediately as soon as the man brought the whip off her back. She winced and fought the tears that rolled down her cheeks. It felt awful, just awful to be tied up like that. To be made to feel so helpless, so low, so subhuman. Then, before she had time to add all her thoughts up, the man struck again. And this time, the blow really hurt. He hit her right between her ass cheeks. Right up into her crotch.

Sally could see one huge male dominant come into her field of vision. The bulge in his leather breeches was so enormous she had to look away a moment. But she couldn't help looking right back. It was poking hard against the metal teeth of his zipper, forcing it out in a wide basket arc.

But her attention was drawn elsewhere again quickly as the leather whip again gave off with a loud crack before it struck the skin of her back, laying a long track along her spine red and bare.

Shit that hurts! She said to herself, feeling as helpless as a fly in a spider web. I wonder how long he intends to keep that up. Sally turned her head momentarily against the wall to see one of the other female slaves being forced down to her knees at the foot of the man whipping her. Then, in the shadows, she could make out the form of the woman being forced toward the man's crotch. She watched in shock and surprise as the woman unzipped the man's crotch and took out his erect member. Then she saw the shadow of the woman taking the man's cock into her mouth and sucking on it. But even with all that action going on, the man did not diminish his whipping, not one little bit.

She turned her attention back to the pain of her red, swollen backside. Her buttocks must have looked like Indianapolis speedway by now. It felt like it, too. The male dominant standing guard at her side, the one with the huge erect front was now unzipping himself. He took a huge, long dick about the size of a polish sausage and slowly, slowly began to masturbate it.

Sally was amazed at how nonchalant he was about it. He stood there with that insanely, obscenely huge schlong of his pointing out toward the enrapt audience while Sally was getting a beating a runaway slave in deepest Georgia wouldn't have stood for.

She watched in absolute amazement as the man took his big gripping paw and covered the whole huge top of his slippery smooth cock knob with it and began to work it around slowly, like the handle of a coffee grinder, a huge coffee grinder.

"Suck his dick!" she heard someone from the audience cry out.

She was pretty sure they couldn't have meant her. They must have been cheering for the woman sucking her assailant's dick. She cast her glance once more to the side and saw in shadow the woman working her mouth up and down hard on what appeared to be the longest dick she had ever seen, but it was in shadow, and those things do tend to distort in such capricious light.

"Ooooohh," she heard the dominant stud say who was standing next to her. She drew her attention back to him and watched as he pried his meat .around and around by simply gripping the head of his huge dick wand and shifting its gear.

She watched transfixed as the blows rained down on her back and the man slid his monster huge hand up and down his gigantic erect prick shaft. He was working it very slowly, building up the tension, but for whose benefit, Sally wondered, as she felt herself grow somewhat aroused, in spite of her attempts to control the sensation. She just never could resist a masked man playing with his pecker meat right in front of her. Perhaps he was teasing her, after all.

The big black hooded stud played his hand up and down his monster meat getting the shaft hard and wet. The thing thudded under the huge lock grip of his palm as he slid his hand up to the head, made a large circle over the tacky moist dome and gripped it again to begin the long trip back down. He let his hands slide down and grasp the hilt hard. He cupped one hand around his pulsating hard rocking balls and let the other hand do the duty of sliding back up his shaft producing more pre-cum droplets every centimeter of the way. Then he spread the sticky tacky stuff down over his rock hard shaft, now glistening in the torch light of the room, all the way down to the base of his peter. The thing was stiffening under his hands, growing harder with each rise and fall of his muscular hard palms.

The hair follicles on his balls felt like nerve endings of needle point showers as he jarred his cock a little, beginning a circular motion over his huge crown dome head. Then, he let his hands slide down back over his stiff, throbbing shaft to the hilt again and back up. He was building up a rhythm and speed that was making his onlookers gasp with excitement.

Sally couldn't take her eyes off the throbbing, hard dick. As much as she could feel the pain, this distraction was proving to be a blessed relief. She could feel the smoke and steam of arousal rising up inside her. She could feel her cunt lips puffing up with the juice and engorgement of arousal. She could feel herself getting hot and she resented it a whole lot. The pain, the arousal, the pain, the arousal, the arousal, the pain, the hot horny lusty, sexy, sexy, sexy way she couldn't stop, couldn't control, couldn't do anything about.

She watched in growing excitation, as the man whisked his heavy hands up and down the full length of his monster pecker. She saw him glide and slide those two hands in and out of every possible position as he gripped his fuck pole and stroked, stroked, stroked it harder and harder, faster and faster. Cling and jerk, back and forth, up and down. Around and around.

He was drawing her into his vortex with every slippery, enticing move of throbbing hard whang.

Shit, she thought to herself. Where's the cock that should be slipped into my cunt right now? What a bummer!

The dominant hooded stud with his prick in his hand kept one eye on the bouncing big tits waving in front of him as he drew his meat up to full length in front of him and pulled his hands back down the slimy shaft, only to send it up top again, faster and faster. Her tantalizing siren's tits were waving at him, welcoming him bringing his arousal to a hot, heavy pitch.

His arousal was building, building harder and hotter and higher with each sweep of his hand up and down, down and up the thick hot shaft. His meat glowed wet and throbbing under his glancing handiwork. Over and over his cock he flailed his strong fingers as he watched Sally's tits, as he saw the whipping man fling his whip into her white, throbbing flanks, as he showed the crowd his tremendous meat stick, his big, hot dick weapon. He pulled harder and harder, until he felt his butt muscles tighten to the breaking point. And then, BANG! He shot out his white man load. He blew his spunk all over Sally's white hot tits. He creamed on her pulsating flesh mounds.

Sally's eyes shot open and banged shut as the jism flew onto her wiggling, writhing tits. She felt the hot load cream down her nipples and stick to her boob mounds. The thick, creamy goo oozed down over her breasts and ran toward her aching, hot cunt. She felt the trickle slide in between her cunt lips and felt the juice masturbate her cunt. It cradled and bathed her cunt in its delicious still-warm juice.

That little drop of come was all she needed. She opened her eyes in a pitch of excitation as she glanced over onto the wall and saw the shadow of the whipping man's prick shoot its load of spray. It shot out a big, thick round of come juice, that she could only see in shadow.

The juice of her cunt mingled with the man's jism juice and the sight on the wall combined to give her a hard, hot rush of heavy, gyrating orgiastic come. She blushed purple and blue and felt the whip dig into her flesh again and again as the waves of orgasm pelted her one after another. As the blanket of pain and ecstasy covered her layer after layer.

She was not even vaguely aware that the door of the room had opened and that a young, fashionable couple had walked in. She did not see the couple coming over to where she was strung up like a side of beef. She did not see or hear or feel them pointing excitedly toward her. And she was totally unaware of their conversation.

"Charlene," Bob Kuafman said, pointing to the strung-up girl victim "how about this?"

Charlene Kuafman took a long, astute, studied look at the voluptuous, innocent form of the slave strung up in front of her eyes. The welts on her back were forming strands of pink ribbon from her shoulders to her ass cheeks. Her high hot tight butt mounds were heaving and sweating with the pain of resistance. Her upturned tits were wringing wet with the moisture of arousal, pain, and punishment "She'll do," the woman said, sizing up the situation, "she'll do just fine."